


the best of both worlds | owen harper

by nihilisten



Series: my reader inserts [13]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mentions of Sex, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20550329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisten/pseuds/nihilisten
Summary: Can you cure loneliness?[owen harper/reader]





	the best of both worlds | owen harper

Your relationship with Dr Owen Harper was a difficult one.

When you first joined Torchwood, the first thing he said to you was pretty much sexual harassment, Toshiko’s reassurance following right after: ‘Don’t mind him, he’s harmless’. You promised to kick his ass nonetheless.

Unfortunately, it was you who got your ass kicked – or more precisely, shot – right on your first mission, and Owen was the one to put you together.

“Happy to see me, ey, sweetheart?” he teased, injecting an anaesthetic into your wounded shoulder. You groaned of pain and frustration.

“I swear to god, Owen Harper, I’l kill you.”

“If you don’t stop screwing around—” a strong pair of arms pinned you to the operating table, Owen’s face appearing above— “you’ll be the one killed by your own carelessness. Now shut up and be grateful someone’s saving your bloody ass,” he hissed, then pulled back to continue treating your wound.

Giving up, you threw your head backwards, allowing Owen to fix you up. Instead you decided to keep him in your sight at any cost, eyes focused on examining every detail of his face. Upon noticing your antics, Owen smirked as his skilful hands worked on you.

“By the way, that’s _Doctor_ Owen Harper.”

You scoffed. “Are you a real doctor, or are you just taking your revenge on me?”

“I can examine you more thoroughly later if you want to make sure…”

That’s how your little affair started.

At first, it was mostly anger. Sex in his lab, sex in a car, sometimes even in his flat, or yours.

But then, you two started talking.

One of those nights, having woken up in the middle of night after hours-lasting rough sex, Owen found you crying in your kitchen. He felt panic taking over; friends with benefits were supposed to shift his mind from pain, not create more of it… And yet, for some reason, he couldn’t just turn around and go back to bed as if nothing had happened.

“Why are you crying?” he asked in a tone that pretty much dripped with disbelief more than compassion. Actually, there was no compassion at all.

Letting out a sob, you wiped your nose. “Go back to sleep,” you waved him off.

“I asked, why are you crying,” Owen pulled out a chair to sit next to you. His gaze was piercing through your skull like a drill, not letting you go, not letting you run away.

A sigh escaped your lips.

“It’s nothing, really,” you started, choosing words carefully. “I woke up and couldn’t fall asleep. Images appeared in my head. I started thinking. I realised—” you paused to look Owen in the eye— “that life is so unfair.”

Owen kept silent for a few seconds. “Yes,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “It is.”

“Years ago, I wanted to be a soldier. To protect people. I studied weapons like a madman. But then bloody Time Agency happened. Torchwood happened and I had to choose between death and becoming a justified murderer,” you let out a bitter laugh. “Talk about irony.”

Oh, bloody hell.

He knew exactly what you meant.

Ever since he joined Torchwood, he’d seen death, pain, suffering in amounts that would certainly make a regular person go insane. He’d seen the unbelievable – unearthly creatures, alien technology, and people unable to handle it. He’d seen so many casualties, he’d seen the killers and the killed. He’d gotten to know them all better than anyone else.

After all, they always ended up on his operating table.

No, he didn’t _actually_ despise his job. He was a good doctor. Good back then, good now, even if the job differed quite a bit. He’d saved many before Torchwood and bade goodbyes to many after. It took him a while to switch into that cold professional mode, no emotions, no nothing – but it was just easier. Safer.

Sometimes though, he’d feel frustrated, angry, resentful, that he did the toughest work of all. He’d envy Ianto who only ever brewed coffee and shagged Jack (well, it _wasn’t_ exactly the thing that Owen was envious of, but still…), he’d envy Toshiko and her comfortable place by the computer, envy Gwen who could act without overthinking stuff.

If anything, he probably never envied you. Your job was the exact opposite of his; you specialised in inflicting death in the most painful ways possible. Had you seen as much death as he had? Possibly, yes. Probably, even. Owen was never the poetic type, but if anyone in Torchwood was broken – except for Jack, but he was fucking immortal – it would be both Owen and Y/N.

Life really was unfair.

“I know.” His eyes quivered. “One moment, you’ve got everything. The next moment, you’ve got nothing but one choice that’s going to destroy your fucking life.”

A bit startled, you looked at him, trying to make out individual shapes of his face in the dark. A smile he sent your way wasn’t exactly happy, but it was reassuring.

Could two hearts of darkness heal each other? Can two lonely souls feel less lonely by sticking together? You two might have been polar opposites, but in the end, you were exactly the same.

In the very least, he hoped you would be able to understand each other.

“It’s no use overthinking. Come on, Y/N, let’s go back to bed.”

Eventually, you did. You followed him to the bedroom, but his words rang loud and clear in your head.

_You’ve got nothing but one choice that is going to destroy your fucking life._

Another day you suddenly realised what he meant by that when you found yourself unable to pull the trigger, an enormous creature hovering over you, ready to explode any second now.

“_Shoot it, Y/N!_” Jack shouted into your headset, deafening you. “_It’s gonna kill you!_”

You wanted to answer. You wanted to shoot, but your trembling fingers couldn’t even budge.

“_Shoot it, do you hear me?! Y/N! Fuck! We’re coming over._”

Legs numb, you finally forced yourself to move. Turning away from the monstrosity, you ran, ran as fast as you could, until you saw the rest of the team dashing in your direction.

“To the side, Y/N!” Jack gestured, his gun ready to kill the creature. He ran past you together with Gwen and Toshiko; as you tried to follow them with your eyes, a strong pair of arms pulled you close, blocking out your vision.

“Don’t look now, love.”

Owen held you close to his chest, doing his best to block out your hearing, too. But the gunshots, the roars and the screams – they were too loud to block out. In those few seconds that seemed like an eternity, you finally realised the meaning of what Owen had told you that night.

You’d change. Working for Torchwood would change you so much that you wouldn’t recognise your reflection in the mirror. And no one, absolutely no one, would ever know; even you’d forget who you used to be.

“I-I couldn’t—it was so huge—I’ve never—” your voice shook, muffled with sobs, until you simply broke down. “God, Owen, they didn’t even bat an eye!”

Yes, they didn’t. Because working for Torchwood made people heartless – but not heartless enough to stop them from suffering. Oh, how much Owen hated this. He’d rather stop feeling everything.

Now you were deep in this shit too, and all he could do for you was to understand.

“And yet again… I almost got killed by my own carelessness,” you whispered, clinging onto the lapels of Owen’s jacket. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Owen’s hand stroked the back of your head. As he saw the team, their job done, approaching the two of you, he added, “Don’t apologise for being human.”


End file.
